This is Gospel for the Fallen Ones
by thehighfunctioningpsychopath
Summary: Everyone is bad if you dig deep enough. And sooner or later, the day will come when you can't hide from the things you've done anymore. Helia Malfoy believes that everyone cares only for themselves, and the only person she can trust is herself. Will things change when she met George Weasley, or will she allow herself to be consumed by hatred and darkness-just like her brother.


Hello dear readers! I've always loved George/OC pairings, but was never able to get into any that I found. The story starts out in the summer of HPB. Helia is two years older than Draco (making her 18) and has already graduated (from Durmstrang). In the first chapter, I'm hoping to kind of give you a glance into how Helia thinks and was raised, as well as her family dynamics, and how they have affected her and Draco. I'm going to briefly touch on few things that both Draco and Helia went through, and I'm going to talk about it in much more detail in later chapters, so never fear. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading it :)

Disclaimer: If you recognize anything, it's JK Rowling's! I also use a quote from Battlestar Galactica, which is not mine either.

**Chapter 1**

"Draco, will you _please _get a move on? We have to meet Mother for lunch in a half hour", I said, pushing my hair over my shoulder.

Draco rolled his eyes and went back to comparing the differences between the "Marvelously Magical" broomstick compass and the "Magically Marvelous" compass.

I sighed and turned around, calling "I'll meet you at The Golden Broomstick at noon. Don't be late." Draco mumbled something between a "goodbye" and a "I know".

"Ornery twit", I thought.

Leaving the shop, I looked in the outside window and subconsciously flicked an eyelash off of my cheek and ran my fingers through my hair, fluffing the waves. It was essential I look perfect for dinner with Mother. Anything less would be punishable by time in the Closet. I looked fine. I looked like a Malfoy. I had inherited the same disdainful attitude, silvery-blonde hair, and grey eyes as my brother.

As I walked down Diagon Alley, I thought about the meeting with Mother. She refused to give us any information, but Draco and I had guessed it involved the Dark Lord, and our future plans to get back in his good graces.

Draco and I spent the night whispering about what we believed our next step to becoming Deatheaters was. Did we want to become part of Voldemort's army? I knew I didn't. But at this point I just wanted to survive. As for Draco, he had gotten lost in the darkness a long time ago. There was only so much more he could take before he'd collapse in on himself, like a dying star.

Mother had high hopes after sending me off to Durmstrang when I was eleven. After all, they valued Dark Arts above all else, making it the tip top school for anyone involved with Voldemort Draco's school, however, valued "goodness" above all else. Don't make me laugh. People are weak, foolish, and above all: selfish. I was taught to protect myself because that's what you have to do to stay alive. At this point, I don't even trust Draco to save me if put in the right situation. Everyone is bad if you dig deep enough. And sooner or later, the day will come when you can't hide from the things you've done anymore. Some of us are born bad; some of us are made that way by the ones who raised us. As for Draco and I, I suppose we'll never truly know.

And with that, I was knocked to ground by a magenta-clad figure.

"Son of a banshee", I mumbled, untangling my legs from the figure on the ground and dusting off my black dress.

My cheeks flushed in anger, and I pulled my assailant up by his hair, ready for a fight.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!", the man said, also attempting to brush the dirt off of me.

I pulled out my wand, hissing "Take your hands off of me, or I will make you into shoes".

He put his hands up, grinning. Apparently this imbecile didn't know who I was, or he wouldn't take my threat so lightly. He should fear me. He ran a hand through his flame red hair, and stuck the other out, brown eyes twinkling.

"George Weasley. Pleasure."

I sniffed. The Weasleys were a name and family to be mocked in our household. However, years of manners lessons led me to immediately shake his hand without thinking. Damn.

"Helia. Helia Malfoy." His eyes widened a bit and he dropped my hand. My identity had finally registered. I still wasn't sure how to deal with the mix of fear, hatred, and now unabashed mockery that came with the Malfoy name.

"I leave you alone. Wouldn't want anyone to catch you talking to a blood traitor like me ", he winked.

Self-deprecating. I like that. He'd done far better than I expected; not insulting my father or trying to peer up my robe sleeve, attempting to catch a glimpse of a Dark Mark.

He grinned at me again and said, "If you're ever in the area though...I have a shop over that way", he said gesturing off to the left, "I probably owe you something for knocking you over."

I remembered Draco telling me something about Weasel 1 and Weasel 2 dropping out to open a joke shop. Well, just because I'm wealthy doesn't mean I say no to free things. Especially when they are undoubtedly owed to me.

"Maybe I will", I said, giving him a curt nod.

"See you around, Helia", he said, walking away.

"Thanks", I called after him.

"What had made me say that?", I thought. "He should be thanking me for not annihilating him. And what's more, did I just have a civil conversation with someone? A _Weasely_ nonetheless...I must be getting soft." As I harrumphed again, Draco appeared beside me.

"What have you been doing? You're all covered in dirt. Run into a member of the Weasel clan or something?"

"Actually yes. One of them knocked me over."

"I hope you cleaned yourself off. Their filth is _contagious_", Draco said, sneering at the thought of the Weasley clan. "They're no better than mudbloods. Disgusting really, their wands should be taking away for such being blood traitors."

"_Enough"_

Draco looked at me, slightly surprised with the amount of force put into one word. I don't know what had made me defend them. Merlin, I run into one of them and suddenly I'm the advocate for Deatheater-blood traitor relations.

"You're getting weak", he stated with a hint of disgust.

"Never, dear brother, I simply don't find any pleasure in mocking those who are so obviously beneath us. It's such a bore."

He relented. "I suppose you're right. Come on, if we're late Mother will punish us."

"You know she's not going to use an Unforgivable just for being late", I said as we quickly walked through the cobblestone streets.

He slowed and looked at me with tired eyes. "You've been gone too long Helia. She's worse now.

And in that moment, I felt something that I thought I had left behind years ago.

Fear.


End file.
